the unexpected benefits of cuddles
by grannysknitting
Summary: set after a relationship with sherlock. sherlock seeks some needed advice, but not from the internet


**AN – **set in my regular one shot universe, **established slash relationship**, shortly after 'A Relationship with Sherlock Holmes' – did I mention the slash (nothing graphic though)

**The Unexpected Benefits of Cuddles**** (Sherlock BBC fanfic)**

Sherlock had been in situations before where he'd had sex – he'd even lain in bed next to a sexual partner after the act was completed. He'd been in relationships before – working relationships with a mutual give and take of benefits, of various depth and utility but relationships none-the-less. He'd even introduced people as associates or acquaintances before, once or twice he'd even gone so far as to call Lestrade a colleague.

He'd never had a lover before. Not a proper one, one that he wanted to stay with him. He wasn't worried about John leaving because Sherlock was Sherlock – they'd already established an accepted measure for clutter and rules about the kitchen and Sherlock's experiments. John liked working on the cases, didn't mind running around town at all hours of the day and night and seemed to enjoy the challenge of maintaining the partnership as well as his more boring job in the ER.

It was just that Sherlock felt _awkward_ when it came to couples stuff. The internet was no use at all – just how much was too much when it came to public displays of affection or even private ones? Did John like pet names and if so, what would be acceptable? Sherlock had already deduced that when they were on the job no affection (public or otherwise) was expected on John's part, which was Good. But during the quiet times, when neither of them was working and Sherlock was just waiting for the next puzzle to come along, surely John would like some affection then…

In bed (or on the couch, the kitchen counter, the floor, the bathroom sink, the shower and many other places besides) Sherlock had no trouble following John's lead. John had a habit of taking charge and Sherlock was pretty much just along for the ride, something that felt unexpectedly _wonderful_. Although Sherlock had equal say in what they did, John was so good at anticipating Sherlock's wants and needs in bed that it seemed as if they had been shagging forever instead of a few weeks. John had promised that he was worth waiting for and Sherlock had to agree that was true. The man was an absolute powerhouse in the shagging department and Sherlock had no complaints at all. However, the internet was perfectly clear that a healthy relationship had an emotional connection outside of shagging and Sherlock was unsure how to initiate or maintain that. Or even how to pretend it was already there.

John seemed confused whenever Sherlock held his hand, and positively alarmed whenever the tall detective wrapped an arm around his waist, as if Sherlock was going to tickle him or pick his pocket. (Sherlock had to admit that last was a legitimate concern.) It was frustrating to not be able to tell what John wanted, because normally John was an open book to Sherlock. The one time Sherlock had actually broken down and _asked_ John had told him he didn't need to change his behaviour: that John was just fine with things the way they were. The internet said that John was lying and John said that the internet was full of shite and would Sherlock _please_ stop googling everything John said? Mrs Hudson was on John's side – she didn't see anything wrong with the relationship either, but Sherlock couldn't deny that there was something _missing_.

So things were at an impasse. They shagged, they slept in the same bed and Sherlock was allowed to hold onto John as much as he liked there, they worked together and shared meals and discussion but there was no affection – public or otherwise. Sherlock wasn't going to ask _Mycroft_ about it as his older brother had already informed him that things were going to end badly, so he went to the only married man that he knew and also trusted on the planet.

Lestrade was surprised to see him on the doorstep – Sherlock had always known where the DI lived but had never visited before – but let him in, looking behind him to see if John was out there too.

"He's at Baker Street," Sherlock hovered in the hall, hearing the sounds of Lestrade's family moving around upstairs. It was bed time apparently, and Mrs Lestrade was rounding her children up and into bed, "I need… advice. And I'm warning you now, Lestrade, if you make fun of me I'll see to it that you never solve another case again."

"That's not the right way to ask for help," a teenage voice piped up from the top of the stairs – male, thirteen years old and just hitting puberty. The heir of the house, as he would be called if they were living in the past, "Goodnight, dad."

"Goodnight, Paul," Lestrade called up the stairs, "Sleep well. Come on Sherlock, come into the kitchen."

The house was fascinating. Geoff Lestrade at home was different to DI Lestrade at work. The entire place spoke of a middle class family – wife, two children, one boy one girl, comfortable clutter and affection in every corner. Mrs Lestrade was a real estate lawyer with a penchant for soap operas and DIY projects. The son played flute, the daughter was a dancer – tap and ballet by the look of her shoe bag. The marriage was stable – more than that, it was _solid and enduring_ which was exactly what Sherlock wanted with John.

Lestrade made tea while Sherlock looked around, barely recognising the feeling of envy that sat heavy and uncomfortable in his chest at the evidence around him. Lestrade had what Sherlock wanted to build with John – which meant that the man _must_ have _some_ useful or practical advice he could give to Sherlock. Two well used mugs plunked onto the kitchen table, a homework book was brushed carefully aside to make room for the hobnobs that followed and then Lestrade was carrying a third mug into the front room before returning and pointing to an empty chair with a stern look.

"What do you need?" Lestrade asked, apparently resigned to giving into Sherlock's demand without fuss. Footsteps came down the stairs and went into the front room. Sherlock settled into his chair.

"In case you weren't aware, John and I are in an intimate relationship," it was possibly the most awkward sentence that Sherlock had ever had to utter and he hoped he wouldn't ever have to say it again, "I'm well aware that everyone around us regards me as an emotional wasteland – I want advice on offering John affection. The internet is useless, and John asked me to stop using it as a tool after a… misunderstanding. You're the only person I know in a stable, committed relationship."

Lestrade made a noise like a vacuum cleaner sucking up a sock and choked on his tea. He spluttered for a moment, and then wiped a hand over his face, staring at Sherlock in surprise. Sherlock scowled in a reminding way – no more cases solved _ever_ – and Lestrade shook his head, sitting back and running a hand over the worn wood in front of him.

"Sherlock, what makes you think you need to offer more affection to John than you already do?" Lestrade asked, then took a hobnob, "I mean, you're pretty affectionate with him as it is – more so than you've been with anyone else."

"No I'm not," Sherlock frowned, "Do you need a definition of affectionate?"

Lestrade snorted and crunched through the hobnob, shaking his head and thinking hard. Pleased that the DI had stopped spouting nonsense, Sherlock took his own hobnob, waiting impatiently for the other man to catch up with him. It was bad enough that he had to wait at a crime scene for the DI – in this situation it was almost painful.

"Ok," Lestrade apparently made his mind up, "I guess the confusion here is _your_ definition of affection. Let me finish, Sherlock! You're right – you do perceive things differently to other people, which is why I think you're missing the point. When you are walking with John, where are your hands?"

"In my pockets, or in his pockets, or sometimes I tug on his jumper to make him keep up…" Sherlock listed, then frowned, "Are you saying that is affection?"

"I'm saying that John and I and just about everyone else who knows you has classified that as affection on your part," Lestrade replied firmly, "You're different Sherlock – there's no denying it. So we all assumed that you'd be showing affection differently too."

"But I was doing that even before we started shagging!" Sherlock burst out, feeling let down, "Are you saying that John thought I was being affectionate with him before we started shagging?"

"Yep," Lestrade looked a little pinched around the eyes, probably at the mention of Sherlock shagging, but the genius let it go in favour of reviewing his actions with John since they became flatmates. If what Lestrade said was accurate, then not only had he and John been affectionate with each other for months before the shagging started but they'd been in a relationship for longer than Sherlock had thought. Also, his actions were being attributed values by other people that he hadn't previously considered – despite the fact that he made no effort to conform to the norms of society, it seemed that the people he worked with most often had taken to parsing his unusual behaviours into a social framework.

"But… I thought that I was supposed to _change_ something now," Sherlock protested, putting his discovery aside for later thought and taking another hobnob. Lestrade sighed, draining his mug and leaning back in his chair. The quiet murmur of the telly from the front room and the tick of the kitchen clock filled the space between them for a moment before Lestrade shook his head and came to a decision.

"He won't thank you if you start being more public and obvious than you already are, Sherlock," the DI informed him, "John's a pretty private man."

"So there is something I can do in private?" Sherlock pounced and Lestrade grinned.

"Well… I suppose you could try something that the missus and I like," was the very alarming response. Sherlock froze, terrified he was about to learn a _lot_ more about the DI than he ever wanted to know. Lestrade rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"No, no, not like that," he snorted, "Ugh… if the missus didn't kill me, John would. Every evening, the missus and I make it a habit of finding some time alone together – just to sit quietly and have a cuddle. She usually watches telly, I read a book and we just… reconnect. It's a good way to unwind after a busy day and all it asks of both of us is to be present and sit quietly. You can do it while you're thinking, or whatever and I'm sure John would be amenable to at least trying it."

"A cuddle," Sherlock tested the idea and then nodded, draining his tea and leaping up from the chair.

"Thank you, Lestrade," he paused in the kitchen door for a moment, looking back at the best DI in Scotland Yard, "That idea is… Good."

"You're welcome," Lestrade replied, gathering the mugs from the table, "You'll see yourself out?"

It was a sign of trust that Sherlock would behave himself in Lestrade's house, and the thin genius appreciated it. He nodded and whisked himself out of the house, flagging a cab only two blocks away and heading for Baker Street, his mind calculating the parameters of the upcoming cuddle.

Fortunately, John was already on the couch watching telly when Sherlock arrived, which made it very easy to join him. John accepted his armful of wriggling lover patiently, eventually settling Sherlock's head in his lap and playing with dark curls while watching his show. After a few minutes, Sherlock understood why Lestrade recommended this particular form of affection. He could think, John could relax – and he was, the muscles of his body were loosening the longer Sherlock lay there – and they could both connect without shagging. It was positively extraordinary, and while he'd need more evidence – repeated experience would do – Sherlock was sure that _this_ was the affection that the internet had insisted was missing from their relationship.

Following three weeks of nightly cuddles, Sherlock sent the DI flowers at home, with a thank you card. After all, that was the socially accepted norm for thanking someone who'd assisted with a personal problem.

END

Disclaimer – characters and settings as depicted in the BBC series not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.

AN – that got totally away from me and wasn't at _all_ what I meant to write! Oh well… I'll have to try another time!


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